For, with a sudden thrill of joy, he remembered that, at a point a few hundred yards to the north of their present position, he had passed a great pile of rocks, fallen crags detached from the sides of the overhanging precipice. The spot was invisible from where he now stood, being hidden behind a projecting buttress of the cliff, but he judged that the summit of this rocky mass was certainly above high-water mark. There he and Mademoiselle Rivière must remain till the ebb of the tide, unless they should be so fortunate as to attract the notice of some passing boat.
Making known his intention, Idris added, "Pardon me; this is no time for ceremony."
He lifted her in his arms, and she, with a sudden and natural revulsion in favour of life, submitted to his will, placing her arms around his neck to steady her person.
The humming sea, as if bent on securing its victims, came foaming with threatening rapidity over the bare stretch of sand, throwing forward long streamlets, that, like eager creatures in a race, seemed striving with each other to be first at the foot of the cliff.
Though Lorelie Rivière was but a light weight Idris' progress was necessarily slow. At each step his foot sank deeper into the rapidly-moistening sand, and ere long the water itself was swirling round his ankles, and flinging its sparkling spray against the base of the precipice. And yet in all his life he had never experienced the pure joy that filled him at that moment. The woman whom he most loved was reclining within his arms, and clasped so closely to him, that he could feel her breast swelling against his own, and her hair touching his cheek. There was a subtle charm in the situation: what wonder, then, that he desired to prolong it, and that he moved at a slower pace as he drew near the pile of fallen crags?
The desired haven was gained at last, and Mademoiselle Rivière, partly by her own efforts and partly with the help of Idris, clambered up the face of the slippery and weed-grown rocks, the top of which formed an irregular, hummocky platform, a few yards in extent.
"Saved!" she murmured, sinking down and scarcely able to repress a tendency to cry. "But will not the tide cover this ledge?"
"No. See here!" replied Idris, plucking a weed beside her. "Samphire! It never grows below salt water. We are quite safe."
Mademoiselle Rivière clasped her hands: her lips moved, and Idris knew that she was breathing a silent prayer.
"You have saved my life," she said, looking up at him with gratitude shining from her eyes. "How can I thank you?"